Checkmate
by ImpulsiveWriter321
Summary: The game of chess is normally played between two individuals with calculated moves and attacks. The two kings fight to the death, and one must fall. The army protects, but is also brought to the front line of the battle. The game of chess can be a dangerous game. And the match between Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty will go down in infamy. *Sherolly, Johnary, etc.*
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is my first time writing Sherlock, so I'm working on getting all the characters correct! That, and I haven't written or read anything in third person in forever! This…may be a little rough. This takes place right after the season three finale! **

** An unknown location in London**

"Is everything in place?"

"Soon, sir. Soon."

"Good. My message has been airing for about two minutes. He's bound to have seen it by now."

"What will our first move be?"

A chair scratched against the floorboards as a man stood abruptly. "Have you ever played a game of chess?"  
"No, sir, I can't say I have."

"The overall objective of chess is simple," The man stated as he walked around the splintering table, sliding his fingers over the crumpled mess of papers that stained the tabletop. "You must take the opponent's King."

"Ok?" His companion questioned.

The man slowly picked up a mobile phone and turned it around in his hands. "So, pretend that Mr. Holmes and I are playing a game of chess."

"Oh…so you want to take the King. And Sherlock Holmes is the king on the opposing side."

"Exactly!" The man exclaimed, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. "There are many ways to checkmate a King. You could take him on directly…or you can go after his army. And who is the highest ranking in an army under the king?"

The man flipped open the phone and scrolled through the small pool of numbers stored on the device.

"Um…"

"Think about it." The man grinned as he hit the call button, knowing that the call would go to voicemail as the person in question never had their phone near them when they were where they were now.

"Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Molly Hooper. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now - "

He flipped the phone shut, effectively ending the unanswered call.

"Who is Molly Hooper, sir?"

Moriarty sauntered over to the lone window in the room, grinning from ear to ear.

"The second highest ranking under the King. I sent her a package just a bit ago."

"Oh…she's the - "

"She, my good man, is the Queen."

…

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

Molly could honestly say she had never been more frightened in her life. She had seen plenty of mutilated bodies and even helped a man fake his death, and yet here she was shaking in her shoes. Moriarty's face covered the screen, mocking her constantly. Gaining a flash of courage, she jumped for the remote sitting next to the telly, and frantically hit the power button. The telly flashed off, but the image still burned in her mind. She took a moment to catch her breath, just listening to the sudden chaos that was happening outside the lab.

Finally, she reached for her phone, needing to dial one number although she knew he probably wouldn't answer. Before she could call it though, a missed call from an unknown number flashed on her screen. She decided the missed call could wait as her shaking fingers typed in the number she knew by heart. It rang a few times, until a ruff voice answered.

"Hello?"

"John? Why are you answering Sherlock's phone?"

"He's a bit…occupied at the moment. He and Mycroft are in a heated discussion. What do you need?"

"Have you…have you seen the telly?"

"We did." He stated.

"What's going to be done about it? Is he really alive?"

"I - "

Suddenly, Molly could hear a loud voice from John's side of the conversation.

"John! Who are you speaking to!"

"It's Molly!" John called back. There was a slight scuffle, then Sherlock's deep bass voice fluttered over the line.

"Molly. Are you safe?"

"Um, yeah, I'm ok. I'm at the lab, what's - "

"Stay there. We're on our way."

The line went dead as he hung up on her. A bit annoyed, she let her phone clatter onto a nearby table.

"He never even says goodbye." She muttered. Before she could think another thought however, the doors to the lab flew open.

"Dr. Hooper?" A small voice asked.

"It's alright, Lynn, just stay in here."

Lynn was Molly's newest protege, following her around like a little assistant. It was only her first week on the job, and Molly felt bad for how much the girl had already been put through. And she hadn't even met Sherlock yet.

"What's going on? Who is that man?"

"A bad, bad man. But you don't need to worry about him. The government will take care of it."

"It seems like they can't even get the broadcast under control, though."

Molly grimaced. Moriarty must still have a large network if he could control every telly in London. Was the two years that Sherlock spent in a fantasy grave all for nothing?

"They'll get it. Why don't you finish cleaning the instruments? That'll take your mind off of everything, trust me."

"Thank you, Dr. Hooper." Lynn walked past Molly, her lab coat brushing against her leg. The lab was silent for a few lovely minutes until the doors were forced open again, this time a tall man draped in famous Belstaff coat walking through. His eyes locked with hers for only a brief moment, and Molly could swear she saw a flash of relief in his cold gaze.

"Ah, Molly. I'm sure you've seen the telly."

"Yes, I have." There was a clang behind her as poor Lynn dropped a scalpel in surprise.

"And you are?" Sherlock demanded.

"This is Lynn. My…assistant. Be nice." She scowled at him as he quickly glanced over the girl. "Lynn, this is - "

"Sherlock Holmes. I know, I've seen the papers."

"Have you seen the pictures with him in that hat of his? They're wonderful," John joked, coming in behind Sherlock. Molly sent him an appreciative glance as Lynn giggled a little and smiled at John.

"Yes, I've seen them."

Sherlock scowled.

"Lynn, why don't you just take the rest of the day off. I'll handle everything from here."

"Are you sure Dr. Hooper?" Lynn asked as she picked up the discarded scalpel.

"Yes. Now get going, you. Enjoy your day."

Lynn nodded and waved goodbye to John and Sherlock before ducking out of the lab.

"She's nice." John noted.

"You're confusing nice for timid, John. But yes…I suppose she is _nice._" Sherlock muttered as he walked behind the lab table to stand next to Molly.

"Stop analyzing my assistant, Sherlock. She's too innocent to handle you." Molly sighed.

Sherlock gazed at her with an expression that Molly hadn't seen before. Was it something like guilt? Or was it just her imagination? She finally spoke to break the silence.

"So, what's going on?"

"It seems that Moriarty has made a monumental comeback like I did. Just in a more…public fashion."

"Do you really think he's alive?" Molly whispered. Sherlock looked at her again while John coughed. When he didn't answer, John turned to her.

"We don't know. This broadcast is the only thing we've heard from him."

"Okay. What do you need from me?"

John looked at Sherlock and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Sherlock just insisted we came here, so you'd better ask him."

Molly turned to ask the man in question, but he was already talking. "I had wished that you could have done the autopsy on Moriarty when he killed himself, Molly. But it has come to my attention that you didn't. So, who did?"

"That…um, let me check." She skimmed past Sherlock to grab her logs, flipping through the years to the dreadful date she was searching for. "Dr. Williams. He did it."

"Where could we find Dr. Williams now?"

"You can't. He retired last year. But, I could pull some strings with administrative and get his papers?"

Sherlock smirked a little and nodded. "Excellent."

He proceeded to saunter out of the lab, beckoning John to follow him. "Call me when you get the results!"

Molly's response was lost on him and John as the doors closed behind them but she still said, "Of course!"

As she made her way to the administrative desk, thinking about how she was going to pull this one off, Lynn came up behind her with her arms full with a package.

"Dr. Hooper, this package came in for you just now."

"Oh, thank you, Lynn." She took it from the girl and placed it under her arm. As Lynn walked off, she checked the return address on the box and was surprised to find that there wasn't one.

"That's odd," she mumbled. "How could a box without a return address get past security?"

She shrugged off the twinge of anxiety she felt and placed the box on the administrative desk.

"Hey, Jill?"

"Hello, darling," Jill responded, looking up at Molly over her spectacles. "What can I do for you?"

Molly put on her best innocent face. "Do you think I could get Dr. William's records from before he retired?"

Jill grimaced. "Well…I'm not supposed to, but…"

"Come on, Jill, please? I'll make it up to you. I'll make you my famous lemon bars?" She countered.

Jill smiled. "Alright, alright. I was going to give them to you anyway, but the lemon bars sealed the deal. Just give me a moment."

She quickly typed into her computer and found a number that corresponded with a file cabinet in their records. It didn't take her long to come back with a large manila file full of papers.

"There you are, dear. Do what you'd like with them."

"Thank you, Jill." Molly smiled at her, grabbed her box and made her way back to the lab, depositing the box on a slab. She spent the next couple minutes flipping through the file looking for Moriarty's autopsy report, but the curiosity about her package was distracting her. She only hesitated in opening it because she had no idea where or who it was from.

Yet, despite her initial fear, she slid the box closer to her and grabbed a nearby scalpel. The box made it through security, didn't it? So there couldn't be anything dangerous inside. Sliding the scalpel across the top of the box, it opened easily. An odd smell reached her nostrils as she opened the box farther and peered inside. When she saw what was inhabiting the box, she screamed and scrambled backwards, causing the box to fall to the ground. A single amputated head rolled out of the box towards her, a note pinned to its forehead.

_This is only a warning, Miss Hooper. The longer you deal with Mr. Holmes, the more gruesome your death will become. Choose wisely._

Despite her better judgment, all she could do was scream again.

**Well? How'd I do? I will gladly take any and all constructive criticism! I love it! Try not to flame though please, I'm new to the Sherlock fandom. :) Please read, review, and enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all who have favorited, followed, and reviewed! I spent some time just planning out the story so I'd have an idea of where to go with it! Thank you all for your patience!**

Molly really should have known better.

She should have known to put her head between her legs and breathe.

_But she couldn't stop screaming._

She should have known to be careful not to touch anything else less she contaminate the evidence.

_But she wanted to get the head as far away from her as possible._

And for Gods sake, as she held her phone to ear, she should have known to call Lestrade before Sherlock.

_But she wanted him there so badly._

"Molly! I should have known you would have the results so quickly."

Molly skipped over the fact that he just gave her a veiled complement and couldn't help the sob that escaped her throat.

"Molly? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" His voice suddenly turned serious, and she could hear scuffling from his side of the line.

"You…you need to come back to the lab. Immediately," she gasped.

"Molly, what - "

"Please, Sherlock," she begged, surprising herself. She was a proud and independent woman, for the most part, and she never thought she would find herself begging. Yet, her body ached for his arms and his voice in a different way than it had longed before. Yes she enjoyed staring at the muscles on his arms when she believed he wasn't looking, but right now she just needed him to ground her. To _save_ her.

There was a beat. "We're on our way."

The line hung up without so much as a goodbye. This time though, she didn't care.

She huddled herself into a corner, keeping her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had been focusing so hard on not looking at the head that had just rolled out of a box, she hadn't noticed the heavy footfalls that were coming toward the lab.

"Dr. Hooper! Are you alright?" The doors flung open as Mike Stamford bolted into the lab, searching about.

"I'm - I'm fine, Mike. Just had a bit of a scare is all." He followed her voice until he found her crouched in the corner, her stained lab coat trapped under her feet.

"Oh, Molly, what happened?" He asked, tentatively reaching out to lay a hand on her should. She pointed silently toward the box. When he looked over, his hand suddenly gripped her shoulder tighter and he himself shouted before backing away. "My God - "

"Sherlock and John are coming. It probably has something to do with Moriarty." She explained. Maybe if she stuck to the facts, the emotions wouldn't get the best of her.

"Oh," He whispered. "Would you like me to - "

"No, you can leave if you want. I'm not expecting you to stay here." Her voice was getting a bit stronger and she slowly stood, keeping her back plastered against the wall.

"Okay. Just…call if you need anything all right? Have you called Detective Lestrade yet?"

It had just hit Molly that she hadn't made any kind of call to the authorities. But suddenly she didn't want to.

"I will in a moment. I - I should give Sherlock a good look around first."

"You're letting him into a crime scene before the authorities?"

"This is not a crime scene." She snapped. Mike backed up a bit, surprised by her hostile nature. She immediately backpedaled. "I'm sorry, Mike, it's just - "

"Molly! Molly, where are you!" His booming voice suddenly filed the morgue and she could here a shuffle of at least five people moving toward them.

"What the hell?" Mike asked as the doors burst open, greeting them with the sight ofSherlock and John elbowing their way through uniformed security guards. She could tell neither had seen her or Mike yet.

"Let us through. We need to find our friend - she could be in grave danger and we need to find her - "

"Just let him through, we really do need to find her. Her name is Molly Hooper, have you seen her?" Leave it to John to be the voice of reason, although he, too, was pushing away the guards in earnest.

"It's okay! I called them! It's okay!" Molly finally found her voice and rushed forward, pulling the guards away from them. "Why did you try to stop them?"

"Molly! Are you alright?" Sherlock asked suddenly, grabbing her and pulling her towards him. He began studying her face intently, searching for distress. She was sure he found some.

"I'm - I'm fine. Boys, they're fine, I called them."

"Sorry, Dr. Hooper. We were just told to be extra vigilant with this Moriarty guy running around. So when we heard screaming and these two blokes running through the hospital…"

"You were screaming?" Sherlock inquired, his soft voice only reaching her ears.

"I know. And thank you for doing your duty. But it's okay, really," she rambled, ignoring Sherlock.

"Alright. Come on, boys." The guards quickly left and Mike went with them, giving a curt nod to Molly as he walked through the doors.

"Oh, Molly, are you alright? What happened?" John asked, rubbing her arms gently. She smiled at him gratefully.

"Yes, why did you phone me so frantically?" She could tell Sherlock was still a bit frazzled, but he had put on his cool facade again, searching for a case.

"That." She pointed toward the box, and the object that made its home on the floor.

"My God. Is that - " John began.

"A head." Sherlock's eyes lit up as he scurried around the table and bent down to look at it.

"It was sent to me. No return address. With that note. Do you think it could have been Moriarty?"

"Note?" Sherlock looked at her, an eyebrow raised in confusion. She narrowed her eyes at him and pointed to the piece of paper attached to the forehead.

"Really?"

"Oh." He snatched it off and read the words quickly. Suddenly, his face changed and he bore an expression that Molly had never seen before on him. But apparently John had.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet Molly's.

"You're sure you have no idea who sent you this?"

"Positive."

He stood quickly, passing the note to John who skimmed it before letting out a slight gasp.

"You're coming with us." Sherlock muttered.

"What?"

"You're coming to Baker Street." He wrapped his arm around her waist and began pulling her out of the lab with John bringing up the rear.

"Shouldn't we call the cops or something? And what about the head?" She squeaked. She swore she saw Sherlock grin at her tone.

"I'll shoot Lestrade a text on our way there. He'll pick up the head."

"Ok," she muttered, watching as doctors scurried around the hospital, trying to keep their minds off of the blaring TV screens. "Can't they get that image turned off?"

"Mycroft's working on it," Sherlock explained as they reached the street. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly could see John's trained eyes scanning the buildings. She could come up with a couple reasons why a seasoned veteran would be scanning buildings, but she didn't want to think about it at the moment.

"John?" Sherlock inquired.

"Nothing so far. I think we're in the clear." He responded. She could see the curious eyes and whispered theories as Sherlock pulled her along. Everyone was wondering what the great detective was going to do now that his arch enemy was back. And they were also probably wondering why he was dragging a shocked looking woman in a lab coat somewhere.

"Good. It seems like he's not going to let up on this attack if Mycroft hasn't been able to disable the message yet. So - "

Suddenly, the hushed frenzy of the streets erupted as two black sports cars turned the corner, their windows completely down.

"Um, Sherlock - " Molly began.

"Get down!" John yelled, grabbing her arm and forcing both her and Sherlock to the ground. She only had time to see the barrel of a gun being pointed out the window of the car before all she saw was pavement.

But she could still definitely hear.

The bullets ripped through the buildings, tearing apart the old brick and shattering the windows. As the cars drove past, she felt a pinprick of pain on her right shoulder but she attributed it to being thrown to the ground. The cars turned the next corner and sped off, leaving the destruction in their wake.

"Who the hell -" John began, slowly looking up.

"Like I was saying. He's not going to let up on this attack." Sherlock's face was grim. "He's just going to keep on hitting."

"All of London? What has this poor street ever done to him?" John muttered as he stood to his full height, glancing around at the panicked people. "I should go see if anyone's hurt. I'll be back."

John than ran off to the nearest person that hadn't stood up yet. Molly watched as he reached a man slumped against the corner of the closest building, blood dripping down his shirt. He reached up to check his pulse, and Molly's heart dropped when John slowly pulled his hand away and hung his head. She shook away the image as Sherlock grabbed her left arm to pull her up. To her surprise, a flash of pain ripped through her as he did so and he didn't miss the expression on her face.

"What's wrong?" He demanded.

"Nothing," she gasped. "I must have just hit the ground pretty hard."

Sherlock nodded at her, only looking at her face, before he ran over to help John.

She automatically reached up to rub her shoulder, hoping that would alleviate some of the pain. Instead, the moment her hand touched her shoulder, there was a searing pain that rocketed through her.

"Great, it might be broken." She muttered. When she pulled her hand back, however, there was a glistening red fluid that covered her hand. She slowly looked over at her shoulder to see the blood gushing down her arm from a small round wound.

She hadn't hit the pavement too hard.

She had been shot.

And it hurt like hell.

"Um, John?" She called, the sudden blood loss making her a bit woozy.

"Just a minute, Molly!" He called, gently laying the deceased man down as Sherlock took a look at him.

"Gunshot wound too close to the heart. Moriarty has murdered another." He spat.

"Are there any others wounded?" John called, searching around the street. People shook their heads and said no, but Molly found her voice again. It was weak and she doubt John even heard her from where she was standing.

"John." She suddenly sank to one knee, her left hand trying to put pressure on the wound.

"Molly?" Sherlock called, but it sounded like his voice was far away. She heard him walk forward briskly as she sank lower to the ground, and then suddenly she heard him gasp. His brisk walk turned into a full on run as he slid to his knees next to her.

"John!" He called. Molly, even though her gaze was fuzzy, could see John whip around to see her and Sherlock huddled on the sidewalk. "John, she's shot!"

The last thing she saw was John sprinting toward them.

The last thing she heard was Sherlock whispering in her ear, "Stay with me Molly. Stay with me, _please_." She quickly thought through her haze how amusing it was that they were freaking out over a small wound on her shoulder. Sherlock himself had felt worse and lived. "Molly, don't close your eyes. Look at me, keep looking at me!"

She felt bad disobeying him, but then her whole world went black.

**I promise their won't be only whomp on Molly! Sherlock and John and others will get some, too. ;) As always, please read, review, and enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 3

** Hi guys! Thank you so much for the kind reviews! It means a lot! I also realized a bunch of grammar mistakes as I re read my last chapter, so I apologize for those! I really need to re read everything before I post. *Shakes head.* But anyway, here we go!**

** Also - I had a crazy dream last night about a new idea for a story****…however I don't know if I want to make it Sherlock themed or create a new original story all together. Think of Sherlock and Titanic mixed together…with some different twists. Let me know what you think! **

The first thing she realized was that she wasn't in a hospital.

There were no bright lights or beeping machines. Instead, she was laying in a large bed, with dark blue covers and sheets. The bedroom was simple, with no pictures giving her hints as to where she might be. Clothes were strewn everywhere and from those she deduced that she was in a man's room.

"_For goodness sake," _Molly thought. _"I'm beginning to think like Sherlock."_

She tried to sit up to get a better view, but the searing pain that ripped through her shoulder stopped her. Glancing down slowly, she realized that her arm had been bounded and put through a sling.

_"John's handiwork, then?" _Molly mused. Breathing through the pain, she looked around again, debating whether she should call out or not. As she searched, her eyes settled on a purple shirt she knew all too well that was hung up carefully in the open closet. She gasped.

"I'm in Sherlock's room," she said aloud to no one in particular. The door began to open slowly and she saw John's head poke through.

"Oh, Molly. You're awake." He opened the door fully and stepped in, careful not to step on any of the clothes.

"Yes," she answered. Her voice was hoarse, but she was quickly relived when she noticed John had a glass of water in his hand.

"Here, drink." He helped her sit up and placed the glass carefully in her left hand. After taking a couple of sips, she looked at her shoulder.

"Bad?"

"Not really. It was a through and through. You just need some time to heal."

"Not that I'm not grateful, but - "

"Why are you not in a hospital?" John raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded. "Because Sherlock and Mycroft are paranoid. They believe that anyone in the public view are easy targets for Moriarty. Although, after what I've seen today, I kind of agree with them. If we put you in a hospital, it would be more difficult for us to monitor and protect you."

"I don't need protecting," she spat suddenly, placing the glass on a nearby table.

"I know you're strong, Molly," John agreed. "But Moriarty is devious and cunning. He'd find a way to get to you."

Molly studied him carefully. "Sherlock's already convinced you hasn't he?"

"Convinced me of what?"

"That we all need to hide from Moriarty."

That took John by surprise. "He doesn't think we need to hide. We just need to come up with a plan."

"He didn't hide before."

"And he's not hiding now," John insisted.

"He's not?" She glanced around the room purposefully. "Then why am I not in a hospital?"

John sighed. "He's just worried - "

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't get worried." She shot back. John looked at her strangely.

"Why are you so against being here?"

Molly sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I'm not, I mean - I'm just…thank you."

"For?"

She gestured at her arm. John gave a slight smile. "But there's something that you may not have noticed about Sherlock, John."

"And that would be?"

She looked him square in the eye before answering. "He doesn't really plan."

John stared at her for a minute before grinning and nodding. "I know. It's like he already has the answer in his head at all times and he just goes through the actions like he knows it's all going to work out in his favor. Did you know that when he went up to the rooftop to see Moriarty, he knew all the ways he could possibly get off the roof?"

"Safely?"

John chuckled. "Yes."

"But John?"

He looked at her curiously. "Yes?"

"I know he knows what Moriarty is capable of. He doesn't have to plan anything involving himself. But he will plan for _you_. For Mary. For Mycroft. But he can't do this alone. I think last time proved that."

"I know."

"Don't let him push you away."

For the umpteenth time during their conversation, John looked confused at her. "What?"

"If I know anything about Sherlock he's brash, loud, annoying, cruel…but he's also intensely protective. He pushes away so much…just to keep everything in the clear."

John stared at her, his eyes downcast.

"He never told you about faking his death because he didn't want you to have that burden. He didn't want you to worry about him constantly."

"But he told you - "

"Because he needed my resources - "

"He let you worry."

"I don't count." The familiar words flooded from her mouth before she could stop them. John looked sadly at her, but she barreled on. "Just, keep your head in the game and help him. He'll try to push you away, you'll see it. But he also wants you to help because he respects you. Help him, he'll need it."

"I know," John agreed. They were silent for a while until John spoke again. "You know, he sat in here all night."

"Pardon?"

"While you were out. He sat by your side all night, even though I told him you were going to be okay. Only when Mycroft called him did he leave."

"Oh," was the only response she had. John smiled and stood, slowly making his way to the door. Before she stepped out however, he turned toward her one last time.

"What I'm saying is…you do count. He's going to plan for you, too."

She gave him a small smile. "I doubt it."

He looked sadly at her before shutting the door behind him. Suddenly tired again, she sank into the pillows and listened to the soft sounds of Baker Street. John's voice fluttered softly from the sitting room and she could hear Sherlock's deep voice answer. The heavy footfalls that succeed the short conversation confirmed her suspicions that he'd come see her.

Although his footfalls were loud, he opened the door with a soft hesitance, peeking in before opening it all the way.

"Molly?" He called.

"Yes?" She smiled. He opened the door fully and stepped inside, only a step, to gaze at her.

"How are you feeling?" For the first time since Molly had known him, Sherlock actually looked…shy.

"I'm fine. A little sore, but nothing worse. What happened while I was out?"

Sherlock took Molly's willing conversation as an okay to walk toward the bed. Surprising herself, she didn't look away even when his eyes looked at her hands instead of her face.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft has his associates looking into the street shooting and my homeless network is covering the places his resources cannot reach."

Molly didn't miss the slight biting tone Sherlock used when he spoke of his brother. She knew of the almost comical sibling rivalry between the two of them, but she knew that the discomfort stemmed deeper than what either let on. She decided not to mention it.

"Good. So…what's the next step?"

Sherlock's quick eyes shot up to meet hers. "What do you mean?"

"What are we going to do now?"

"What do you mean 'we'?"

Molly sighed. She knew Sherlock was going to do this. For goodness sake, she had told John only a few minutes ago. But she wasn't going to let him get away with it, not this time.

"I'm helping you."

"No, you're not."

"Sherlock - "

"No." His voice held an air of finality that would have made the old Molly cringe and look away. Instead, she reached forward with her good hand and beckoned him closer. He didn't move immediately, but he finally reached out a tentative hand and touched hers. She wasted no time in pulling him closer.

"Sherlock. You're not pushing me away. Not this time. You need me."

"What could I need you for?" He whispered, the conversation they had in the lab all that time ago flashing in Molly's mind.

She smiled. "I don't know…anything really."

Sherlock gazed at her, possibly trying to read her emotions that were most likely displayed across her face. She would be lying if she said his gaze didn't make her weak at the knees anymore, or that her heart began to race. Her time with Tom had made ignoring Sherlock Holmes a bit easier, but now with Tom gone her infatuation with the man in front of her flared again.

That's what she called it. An infatuation - not love. Because who could love a man who would rather talk to a skull than a human being? Who could love a man who would insult anyone he met? Who could love a man who would fake his own death for two years just to do a job? She was just excited by him, that's all.

But then Sherlock smiled that damn half smile of his and she questioned the fine line between infatuation and love.

"Fine," he spoke, causing Molly to drop his hand in surprise. "You can help. But we do this my way, understand?"

"To a point." She muttered. He raised an eyebrow at her and she only spoke when she realized he wasn't going to say anymore. "I'll do it your way to a point. But if you put yourself in unnecessary danger…expect some retaliation."

He didn't answer. Instead, he rubbed his head like he had a headache, which he probably did.

"Why would you care?" He finally asked. "Why would you care if I put myself into danger?"

Without thinking, she spoke. "Because I care about you."

He froze, but he didn't look at her. They sat there in utter silence for what felt like an eternity, until he abruptly stood and walked to the door. Molly expected him to walk right through, but he seemed to have a second thought and turned toward her, head bowed.

"You'll stay here under John's supervision until you've healed enough. Then we'll speak about what to do next."

And he left. Molly sat there, a bit shocked by his abrupt exit. Sure, he had abrupt exits before, but he had never done so with a second thought.

Sighing, Molly leaned back against the pillows with a new fatigue.

"He's going to be the death of me." She whispered to the darkness. Closing her eyes slowly, she allowed herself to be taken to the realm of sleep.

But instead of a fitful sleep - she dreamed.

**Well? How's it going? Haven't seen you guys in a while. I've been working another story of mine called 100 Things About Annie in the Covert Affairs section. If you know the show - it'd mean so much if you'd check it out! :) Anyway, I hope you liked this installment! As always, please read, review, and enjoy!**


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